


Gold and Lapis

by DSEG



Series: Tokens 'verse [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Arguing, Case Fic, Established Relationship, Jewelry, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Story: The Adventure of the Red-Headed League
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 05:15:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7831786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DSEG/pseuds/DSEG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sherlock is currently sporting two tokens from John.  John, conversely, is wearing nothing at all from Sherlock.  Sherlock will buy John a token.  It will be perfect; the right token to show John just how important he is."</p>
<p>Sherlock attempts to be romantic and life gets in the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gold and Lapis

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-ed by the lovely juicebat. All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> See notes at the end for links to the jewelry.

 

It is 2:58 am.  Sherlock is lying on his side with John tucked in against his stomach.  He is wearing his ring because he never takes it off.  He is wearing his cuff because he gets restless when he sleeps without it.  A holdover from his time away.

 

John is wearing his silver and garnet ear studs this week.  Earrings are the only tokens that he wears to bed.  Earlier today, when they chased a serial snake-burglar around Queensgate, John had worn two gold rings and a garnet bracelet made of many strands of tiny beads.  It was cool and interestingly textured against Sherlock’s wrist when they held hands on the way home from their post-case dinner.

 

Sherlock has not asked where these tokens came from.  Unlike all else about John Watson, he finds that he doesn’t want to know who gave him these pieces.  Instead, Sherlock prefers to think of them as extensions of John himself, separate but organic.  Besides, it doesn’t matter who came before Sherlock in John’s life.  No one will come after.  Sherlock will fight the world to keep John.

 

He’s fairly certain that John knows this.  John is not totally unobservant and Sherlock isn’t subtle in his possessiveness.  Still, Sherlock knows that he isn’t the ideal romantic partner.  He still hasn’t told John that he loves him.  The sentiment sticks in Sherlock’s throat like too much caramel.  Their physical relationship is coming along, but progress is still slow.  Erotic activity is still very overwhelming.  It overloads Sherlock’s circuits and leaves him shaken after every encounter.  John seems to understand and doesn’t push.  They kiss,  _ and kiss and kiss and kiss,  _ and trade handjobs or frott on any flat surface but it’s not exactly the kama sutra.   _ Perhaps that is something to invest in.   _

 

Sherlock also isn’t good at initiating physical affection.  He never knows the right moment and has a tendency to hug too long.  John hasn’t said anything, but Sherlock knows.  He hasn’t grown any more thoughtful, nor his tongue any softer, and last week he blew up the toaster.  John had not been best pleased.       

 

Some things are not going to change.  Sherlock is who he is.  But he wants to be good for John.  John is a marvel and he deserves goodness.  

 

The immediate project, therefore is obvious.  Sherlock is currently sporting two tokens from John.  John, conversely, is wearing nothing at all from Sherlock.  Sherlock will buy John a token.  It will be perfect; the right token to show John just how important he is.

 

John is deeply asleep, his breath slow and steady.  If Sherlock moves carefully he can extricate himself without disturbing him at all.  Sherlock moves so slowly that it takes almost ten minutes to wiggle out of the bed but John is still fast asleep.  Pleased with himself, Sherlock stretches and gets out his laptop.  

 

Seated on the edge of the mattress, Sherlock hits an immediate snag.  He has never given any thought to buying a token before.  Even if he’d had a previous partner, omegas receive tokens, they don’t give them.  Moreover, he has been careful over the years to see tokens as evidence.  They were clues to interpersonal relationships.  After the disastrous 13th birthday set he had made himself totally blind to them as anything having to do with him.  There was no time to discover any of his own preferences.  John’s tastes are eclectic, lending him little assistance.  He has a few steady preferences, but he’s said before that he like tokens to reflect their givers.  Early on, Sarah had presented him with a thin silver charm bracelet hung with medical symbols.  John isn’t one for delicate jewelry, and yet he had shown a marked preference for that piece.  Frustrating.

 

He looks back at John, shadowed and still.  He is somehow meant to enhance this man.   _ Impossible.  John is perfect when totally naked.  A conundrum. _

 

_ What is certain? _

 

_ Gold.   _ John has less of it, but favors it.  So does Sherlock.  It looks like desert sunlight on John’s skin.   _ Garnets. _  He’s not sure why.   _ Childhood associations? _  Perhaps it was his omega mother’s preferred stone.   _ Not enough data. _  John also likes thicker, more durable pieces that take daily wear and tear well.  He doesn’t like fussy things or things that impede his work at the clinic or with Sherlock.  Since his first month in 221 B he has stopped wearing tokens that make much noise.  Beyond garnets, he has shown no preference for a particular stone, though he seems to like stones  with deeper, richer hues.

 

There’s nothing for it.  Sherlock will just have to see what is available and go from there.  He types ‘male omega tokens’ into the search bar.  The first few sites are absurd.  Most are meant for revoltingly normal omegas with plebian tastes and boring mates.  There are thin gold chains, mass produced charms with hearts or occupational symbols or  _ dear God _ sports teams.  Sherlock can feel his IQ dropping.   _ Revolting. _

 

Steadily, he scrolls through results, determined not to give up.  Most of John’s tokens are not this bad, so there must be acceptable jewelry somewhere.  He bookmarks one site with pleasingly hammered silver and another with unique things done in amber.  On reflection, Sherlock finds himself quite fond of amber with all its oddities, but it isn’t quite what he wants for John.  Not for this first, vital, token.

 

He hits paydirt on the third page of results.  The site is entirely inspired by historical pieces.  Egyptian and Assyrian, Babylonian and Greek are muddled unscholastically together, but the pieces themselves are attractive.  One set immediately catches Sherlock’s attention.

 

It is a pair, a necklace and bracelet together.  They are done in gold and lapis.  The bracelet is 10 strands of lapis beads along a gold clasp.  Gold beads are interspersed randomly in the lapis.  The necklace, though, is even more fantastical.  It is done in a collar-like design with gold squares and teardrop  lapis accents.  In the center is a gold lion.  It looks like a pharaoh's treasure.  Sherlock has an instant vision of John in a linen kilt with kohl around his eyes and this jewelry draped on his honeyed skin.  It’s an inspiring image.  Sherlock’s cock twitches in his sleep bottoms.  The lapis will darken the hue of John’s eyes while the gold brings out the highlights in his hair and offsets all of his lovely tan skin.  Sherlock loses a minute.

 

The set must be John’s.  It cost upwards of 500 pounds but Sherlock is unphased.  He has a trust fund from his parents that he’s rarely touched.  What better to spend it on then tokens for John?   _ Father will roll in his grave _ .  The thought is nearly as pleasing as the necklace is.  Grinning maniacally to himself, Sherlock places the order.  The set will arrive in 48 hours.  Sherlock lays back down, well-pleased.

 

*

A new problem presents itself in the morning.  Once the tokens arrive, how will he present them to John?  This proves a far more complex problem.  He ruminates while John puts on the kettle and putters around making eggs-in-a-basket.  Should he do it over dinner somewhere nice?  Or maybe at Angelo’s?  Or should he be casual and just leave it in the flat for John to find.   _ Impossible _ .  Sherlock scowls at the formica tabletop.   _ How is one meant to decide these things? _

 

For better or worse, he doesn't have long to think about it.  The doorbell rings and Mrs Hudson’s voice floats up.

 

“Yoohoo!  Client for you!”

 

A heavy man, about 40 years of age with the most shockingly orange-red hair that Sherlock has ever witnessed appears at the top of the stairs.  He has a grey newsboy cap in his hands and is staring unabashedly around the flat.  Clearly a fan of John’s.    _ Beta, pawnbroker, not successful, bonded left him but not for another man - she went overseas, no pets, few friends. _

 

“Sherlock Holmes?”  The man stoops his shoulders deferentially, but his eyes glitter with excitement.  The is probably the most interesting moment in his whole year.  Sherlock gestures impatiently.  The man straightens slightly and holds the cap in front of him like a turn-of-the-century gardner speaking to the local gentry.  “Jabez Wilson, sir.  I’ve got a strange little case no doubt and who did I think of but you?  I knew that Sherlock Holmes could figure out what’s what.”  He smiles childishly.  

 

Fortunately for Jabez Wilson, John cuts in before Sherlock has time to inform him of his utter insipidity.  

 

“We’re glad you came, then.”  He shoots a quelling look at Sherlock and gestures for the man to take a seat on the couch.  They all troop into the living room while Wilson stares about as if he’s in a museum.  “What is your problem?”

 

“Well Doctor, it’s not a problem exactly; it is strange, but not a problem, that is.  I mean to say that I’ve had the oddest sort of a month you see…”

  
  


Sherlock’s hands itch to strangle the man into silence as he meanders through the most long winded account of his ‘odd’ month.  Evidently he signed up for a survey website that catered only to red-headed betas called Reds Ahead.  He got 10 pounds a week for answering questions on his phone about what products he liked best.  After the first week a message cropped up on the app inviting him to a free premium membership.  All he had to do was to go to the office of the site in central London.  Once there, he found 20-some other red headed betas all camped out on the office anteroom.  They were each sent away, one by one, though by what criteria Wilson didn’t know.  He was told that he was the lucky candidate and that to earn an extra 50 pounds a week all he had to do was to watch promotional videos in the office twice a week.  Wilson readily agreed.  The arrangement continued nicely until the day before when he went to the office and found a sign saying that Reds Ahead had gone out of business.

 

Sherlock shoots a glance at John.  He is wearing a peculiar expression somewhere between fascination and hilarity.  Sherlock sighs.  There will be no getting rid of Wilson, then.

 

“Who worked at the office?”  

 

Wilson visibly starts and his bemoaning of the loss of the weekly 60 pounds cuts off sharply.  “At the office?  Why only Mr Ross, Mr Duncan Ross, that is.  Strange man, very quiet and doesn't like to make conversation.  I don’t like to comment on a person’s looks, heaven knows, but he has the strangest white scar across his brow too.  Looks like a splash across his face.”  

 

Sherlock’s mind abruptly whirls into gear.   _ White scar like a splash.  Acid.   _ “Was Duncan Ross an alpha?”

 

“No, sir, not a bit.  He was a beta too.”

 

Sherlock struggles to conceal a grin.   _ John Clay!  I’d bet anything on it.  The game is on! _  Clay is a notorious criminal who has slipped out of all charges for years.  Sherlock ran into him once before and caught the man’s partner, but was never able to give enough evidence to convict Clay as well.  It had galled at the time.  Now here is Clay again, and a pretty little puzzle to go with him.   

 

In his blandest tone, Sherlock thanks Wilson for his time and asks the address of Reds Ahead.  Once Wilson is safely out of the flat he turns to John.

 

“What do you make of it?”   

 

John shakes his head and laughs softly.  “Not a thing!  I have no idea what is going on but Wilson was certainly right.  It’s strange enough!”  He takes a moment to look closely at Sherlock and his mouth curls in a self-deprecating little smile.  Sherlock wants to taste it.  “You’ve got it figured though, don’t you?” 

 

Sherlock shrugs.  “Perhaps.”  He won’t tell John yet, not when he’s so clearly enjoying the puzzle.  “Eat quickly John, we’re going to go see this office.”

 

*

 

As it turns out, Reds Ahead is housed in a 1980’s office building with abominable carpeting and 4 floors of largely imbecilic business.   _ Honestly, if it weren't for Clay and John’s clear amusement, the case wouldn’t be worth it at all.   _ The building owner is a harried and totally disinterested apha woman with a fantastic afro.  She agrees to let Sherlock look the place over, but can’t recall either the name Duncan Ross nor Reds Ahead.  She does, however, remember Wilson having run into him in the foyer once.

 

“He almost talked me to death, that one.  I wonder how he breaths?”  Sherlock snorted and took the key from her.  “Have that back before closing!” she shouted after them.     

 

The office is painted a surprisingly pleasant sky blue, smells of expensive organic cleaners and is almost totally empty.  There is one desk in the front room containing two biros and a half-chewed pack of sugarless gum.  The gum and the cleaning products both confirm John Clay’s involvement.  The last Sherlock knew, Clay was obsessed with his health to a near hypochondriacal degree.  Other than a few chairs, a and a dying plant there is nothing else in either room of the office.  Sherlock and John return to the flat.  When John goes out for groceries, Sherlock decides to take a shopping trip of his own.  

 

Wilson’s shop is out in Westwood.  So too is Mr Hassan, an importer who Sherlock helped with the issue of an smuggling employee.  Jewelry as nice as the lapis set shouldn’t be put in a plain bag or box.  Determined to succeed in all aspects of his gift, Sherlock makes his way to Mr. Hassan’s shop and browses for a half an hour, looking at every single container therein.  In the end he selects a square sandlewood box carved with sphinxes and geometric patterns.  Secreting it in the inner pocket of his coat, Sherlock swings by Wilson’s shop, The Pawned Prawn.   _ How foul.  _

Nothing appears immediately suspicious.  Sherlock looks around the premises carefully, noting that the shop is next door to a cell phone store.  It isn’t until he prepares to leave that the last piece of the puzzle clicks into place.  His shoes are making a very strange sound on the pavement that runs between The Pawned Prawn and the cell phone shop.   _ Hollow. _ _ What an excellent day. _  He stops into the shop, ascertains that there will be a delivery of brand new iphones that night and makes his way back to 221 B and John.

 

“Where’ve you been, then?”  John is at his laptop, laboriously typing up the end of the snake-stealing case.

 

“Westwood.  We’ll be going there tonight.  Tea?”

 

“Make your own, you lazy sod.”  John’s voice is painfully fond.  Sherlock detours on his way to the kitchen and kisses the top of his head.  Tea in hand he retreats to his bedroom.

 

John isn’t the sort to poke around other people’s things, but Sherlock hides the box under a loose floorboard with 3 police badges and an antique glass syringe anyway.  John can’t see any part of this gift until Sherlock is quite ready.  Of course, he has no idea when that will be.  He lays statue-still on the bed and think it over for quite a while, but comes to no firm conclusion.  John’s unpredictability is one of Sherlock’s favorite things about him, but it can be a deuced nuisance sometimes.

 

At 11 pm, Sherlock instructs John to get his gun and a warm jacket.  They take a cab to the other side of the block from The Pawned Prawn and walk the rest of the way.  John is fizzing with curiosity and excitement.  Not even the misty drizzle can keep his spirits down.  Sherlock puts his hand on John’s inner elbow.  John is irresistible when he’s happy.     

 

The cellphone store manager, Mr Deepak Patel, is expecting them and waiting with two private security men.  They all wait with the lights off in the cellar of the building.  The manager shifts uncomfortably every 5 minutes, but John and the two burly security guards are stone still.  Sherlock feels a splash of pride in this quietly deadly man that has chosen him out of all of London.

 

The basement is cool, dry and empty but for one wall of boxes.  As such, when scraping starts on the other side of the east wall, it is clearly audible to everyone in the room.  Mr Patel jumps and stifles a gasp, inching backwards toward the stairs.  John, in contrast, is like a lion who’s caught sight of a gazelle.  His muscles shift in readiness under his clothes but he holds his position, eyes fixed on the patch of discolored bricks in the wall.  He doesn’t need to be told anything.  The two security guards flank the opening, pressed close to the wall and out of direct line of sight. 

 

One, two, three brick disappear, then a whole section lifts out and two men shine torches into the room.  They light on the wall of boxes and move in without caution.  They expect no trouble.  

 

The security guard on the left lays hold of the first man in seconds and gets him in a secure hold.  The second man, however, is quicker and eels out of the grip of the other guard.  John is on him in a second, landing a harsh blow to his left arm as it shifts to the small of his back.   _ Knife.   _ But John understood too and the man is swearing and clutching his elbow.  John kicks him in the right knee and he’s down.  The security guard pulls his arms up behind him.  Sherlock turns on his cell and shines the light in the man’s face.  John Clay.  Robbery is the smallest of charges that Sherlock could get him on, but it is still a heady victory.  He grins in the man’s face and tells Mr Patel to call the police.

 

He and John slip out before the met arrive.  The case is clear enough and with Mr Patel and his security as witnesses there’s little need for them to be involved.  Mr Patel is wonderfully grateful and offers Sherlock one of the shipment he just saved.  Sherlock takes it, resolving to lose John’s useless phone to a case at the first opportunity.  This will be a much better model for him.   _ It’s conversely amusing that cheaper cell phones are so hard to manage and expensive ones are easy.   _ At any rate, it will cut down on the annoyed grumbling day-to-day.

 

On the cab ride home, Sherlock fills John in on Clay and the signs that led him to deducing this evening’s little adventure.  John leans in close, his eyes alternating between Sherlock’s face and his lips.  His breath is light and quick.  Sherlock revels in the curve of John’s body toward him, like a plant facing into the sun.  It’s all quite spectacular and Sherlock suspects that his night will only improve.   __

 

He’s not wrong.  John drags him up to the flat by one hand.  He shoves Sherlock into his chair and sinks to the floor at his feet.

 

“I want to try something.”  John’s face is intense, eyes blown and fixed on Sherlock.  He rests his hands on Sherlock’s knees.  

 

Sweat prickles along Sherlock’s brow and under his arms.  He nods, tongue suddenly gone clumsy in his mouth.    

 

John grins, lightening fast and surges up to kiss Sherlock deeply.  His hands slide inward along thighs, rubbing at the expensive wool of his slacks.  After a long moment, he rocks back on his heels and focuses down on Sherlock’s lap.  

 

“I’m going to make you feel so good, love.  Just you wait.”  John’s voice has gone soft and crooning but possessive, as if he’s admiring a treasure that’s suddenly his.  He pets Sherlock’s thighs, then reaches up to unbutton his slacks.  They work together to remove trousers and pants, until Sherlock is sitting bare-arsed on the chair and panting with arousal.  His cock is hard and sensitive to the cool air in the flat.  John leans forward and places a kiss high up on one thigh, sucking at the skin and leaving a red mark.  Sherlock moans and feels liquid drip from his channel onto the chair.  He wriggles impatiently, but keeps his hands on the chair arms.  It’s so much better to wait and see what John will do next.     

 

What he does is to suck to more marks into the thin skin of Sherlock’s inner thighs.  He waits until Sherlock is practically writhing to move his attention up to Sherlock’s cock.  Like all omegas, Sherlock’s cock is smallish and he has no testicles.  John does not seems to mind at all, laving Sherlock with his tongue and pressing sucking kisses to his tip.

 

Sherlock gasps.  John’s mouth is so warm and wet.  John feels welcoming too, as if John’s mouth is where he was always meant to be.  His ribcage feels warm, a contrast to the tingling arousal running all over his skin.  

 

“John, please!”

 

John chuckles.  The vibration on his cock is devastating.  Sherlock wails and arches up.  John slides both hands under the curve of his arse and pulls him closer.  He takes Sherlock all the way in, sucking strongly.  Fire courses along all Sherlock’s nerves.  

 

A second later everything is immeasurably better.  One of John’s fingers finds its way to his dripping channel.  It rubs and teases, spreading slickness around.  When it disappears,  Sherlock opens his eyes.  When had he shut them?  The world is unraveling around him.  John slides off his cock with a pop and grins a leonine grin.  He deliberately places his finger in his mouth and makes a show of sucking off Sherlock’s fluid.  It’s like a kick in the gut.  Sherlock arches painfully.

 

“John!  Please, John, please.”  He babbles without sense, clutching at the chair.  John flushes all over and groans.

 

“God, Sherlock.  You are so fucking beautiful like this.  Hold on love, I’ve got you.”  He hoists Sherlock’s bum up higher, slides long white thighs over his shoulders and presses a kiss to Sherlock’s swollen hole.  Sherlock clamps his thighs around John’s head and moans.  He wonders if this is what a heart attack feels like.

 

A soft mobile tongue invades him, scooping out slick and exploring every inch of his twitching hole.  It’s more than Sherlock can take.  He screams like a dying man and comes.  The world whites out.   

 

When it reforms, Sherlock beholds the wonderful sight of John, trousers open, jerking himself off with wild abandon.  Before Sherlock can do much more than appreciate the sight he comes, body shaking violently.

 

Sherlock pulls him gently up into the chair and curls himself around John.  They smell fantastically of sex and pheromones.  He presses kisses to John’s ear and neck while John comes down.  Eventually John turns and kisses Sherlock, sharing the taste of Sherlock’s sweet slick.  They stay there, trading kisses well into the night.

 

*

The tokens arrive in the mail the next day.  John, thankfully, is at the surgery.  Sherlock examines each piece minutely and finds himself pleased.  The lapis is a deep blue.  The gold is well-worked.  None of it is unworthy of his John.  He places both pieces in the sandlewood box and stashes it under the floorboard again.  It is ready whenever he is.  Now he needs to create a suitably romantic moment.

 

Unfortunately, things do not go to plan.  Sherlock isn’t even aware of how spectacularly pear shaped things have gone until 4:37 the next day.       

 

That morning he had been experimenting with mold spores on bees wax.  It hadn’t been either very interesting or terribly relevant.  Largely, bored, he fooled with the petri dishes until a text had come from Molly.  There was a dead leper at the morgue!  Sherlock had never had the chance to study leprosy in person!  John hadn’t been in the room, so Sherlock threw on his coat and rushed out, locking the flat behind him.

 

Therein lay the problem, apparently.  At 4:37 pm, having taken a break to use the bathroom and get a drink, Sherlock checked his phone.  There were 12 new texts from John.  There was also one missed call.  John knew he never answered calls.   _ Not good. _

 

**let me in**

 

**where are you?**

 

**damnit sherlock!  i told you i was going to speedy’s**

 

**get back here and let me in**

 

**i am wearing my pajama bottoms on the street.  if you ever want sex again get over here and let me in**

 

**where the hell are you??**

 

**mrs hudson won’t be back until 3.  you need to unlock the flat**

 

**i don’t care if there’s a dead alien in a locked room! answer your texts!**

 

**sherlock i swear to god**

 

**i am cold, i have no cash and i am wearing pyjamas in public**

 

**get over here**

 

**mrs hudson let me in**

 

The last had arrived at 3:34.  The first had been sent at 9:11.   _ Really not good. _  John might have forgiven being locked out, but not being locked out in a state of dishabille.  He had a very rigid sense of propriety sometimes for a man who giggled at crime scenes.   _ Why did he go out like that in the first place? _

 

The question now is whether to finish up with the leper and let John cool off, or go home immediately.   _ John is already angry.  Lepers are hardly a dime a dozen.   _ Thus fortified with logic, Sherlock returns to the leper.   

 

When Sherlock goes home that night, the flat is very quiet.  It is only just past 10.  John usually stays up until 11 but all of the lights are off and the door to his bedroom is closed.  Sherlock feels a prickle of unease, but brushes it aside.   _ Probably sulking.   _ He makes tea and types up results from his studies of the leper then sleeps for a few hours.

 

When he wakes, the flat is still quiet.  Sherlock gets up, showers and returns to his bees wax.  The results are as expected and totally uninteresting.  He bins the whole experiment.  

 

Sherlock stands quite still in the kitchen.  It was a Wednesday.  John doesn’t work on Wednesdays.  He glances at the clock in the stove.  It’s 10:18 in the morning.  John is always up by nine at the very latest unless a case has kept them out all night.  John has not been down this morning.  The crawling unease is back.  Sherlock vaults up the stairs to John’s room and opens the door.  It isn’t locked.  John isn’t inside.

 

John isn’t here.  He hasn’t been since yesterday.  Sherlock goes to the closet.  There’s a duffel missing.  John is gone.

 

The room is suddenly much too small and the floor is uncertain.  Sherlock sits down hard on the edge of the bed.  Most of John’s things are still here.  Does that matter?  Does it mean that he’s coming back?  Or will he just come and take them away too?  This isn't Sherlock’s area.  He had no idea how to predict what will happen next.         

 

His phone is downstairs.  He gets it and sends a carefully worded text.

 

**Where are you?**

**SH**

 

He’s aware of the irony.  Or is this apropos?

 

He gets up and paces the sitting room.  His phone is frustratingly silent.  He paces faster and faster, then flops down onto the couch.   _ Maddening!  How is one supposed to function like this?   _ He glowers at the ceiling.  There is a spider in the front left corner.  It sits perfectly still.  So does Sherlock.  The phone doesn’t sound.

 

_ Is this it?  Is this how it ends?  How pathetic.   _ He hadn’t even known it could end.   _ But we’re lovers now.  John expects different things.   _ Sherlock grimaces.   _ He said he didn’t.  He said that I didn’t have to change. _ _ Clearly that wasn’t true. _  He doubts that John meant to lie.  John doesn’t like to lie.   _ But he’s normal. _  He wants a normal lover who doesn’t lock him out of the flat all day and ignore his texts.  He probably wants a lover who doesn’t do quite a lot of the things that Sherlock does. 

 

_ Will he find someone else now?  Another pretty alpha with a big knot, big breasts and no brains?   _ He imagines John with a faceless blonde alpha.  He imagines her kissing him, touching him, fucking him.  His stomach turns and sourness invades his mouth.  He leaps off of the sofa and goes to the loose floorboard in his room.

 

The box is there, still lovely and bright with promise.  He takes it out and opens it.  The lapis and gold winks at him in the light from the window.   _ What a profound waste.   _ He’s not sure if he means the tokens or something else entirely.   __

 

In the living room, his phone chimes.  Sherlock drops the box and its contents.  The spill across the floor with a bang and a rattle.  Bolting into the living room, he snatches up the phone.

 

**harrys. i see you remembered me**

 

Sherlock takes a harsh breath.

 

**I never forgot you, John.  I just forgot the phone.**

**SH**

The response is much faster this time.

 

**bullshit**

 

Did he forget John?  Arguable.  This is not a productive line of attack.  He needs to find a much better strategy.  He’s got John’s attention now, he’d be a fool to waste it.  He has to convince John to give him another chance.  To come home.

 

**I’m sorry.**

**SH**

 

**are you? really?**

 

**Yes.**

**SH**

 

**what for?**

 

Sherlock knows a trick question when he sees one.  There is one right answer and he’s not sure what it is.  No help for it.  He goes for the truth.

 

**I’m sorry that I made you feel forgotten.**

**SH**

 

There’s a long pause.  Sherlock can feel his heart sinking.  It’s an unpleasant sensation, rather like a weight in his belly and rocks in his throat.

 

**shit. im coming home. we need to talk**

 

Sherlock drops his phone on the table.  He has no idea whether to feel relieved or terrified.  John is coming here.  That’s excellent news.  But even Sherlock knows that ‘we need to talk’ is never a good sign.   _ What do I say?  How do I convince him to stay?   _

 

Sherlock is so lost in strategizing, that John’s tread on the stairs takes him completely by surprise.   _ Heavy, slow, favoring his leg.  Not good.   _ Sherlock sits down and faces the stairs.

 

John looks tired.  There are dark circles under his eyes and the Fall line is deeper than ever.  Sherlock feels a pang of guilt.  Hadn’t he wanted to be good for John?  To give him what he deserves?  He’s certainly making a bad job of it so far.

 

John sits in his chair and looks at Sherlock.

 

“Hello.”

 

Sherlock nods uncertainly.  “John…”

 

“Yes?”  He’s not giving an inch.

 

Sherlock looks down at his shoes.   _ Took the tube, walked from Baker St Station.   _ “I’m sorry.”  He can’t remember the last time he apologised.  John’s worth a lot more than pride, though.  

 

“Yes, you said.  Quite well, really.”  John sighs and runs a hand over his face.  Some of the steel leaves his spine and he slumps in the chair.  “Where were you?”

 

“The morgue.  There was a dead leper.”

 

John snorts a half-hearted laugh.  “Of course there was.  Did you even know that I wasn’t in the flat?”

 

Sherlock shakes his head.  

“Shit, Sherlock.  I was gone all of 3 minutes.  I told you I was going down to Speedy’s; you must have known I didn’t have keys if I didn't even have trousers.  It’s a miracle that my phone was in my robe.”

 

Sherlock has been wondering about this, but isn’t sure whether to ask.  After a moment of dithering, he does.  “Why did you go down without trousers?”

 

John stares at him, then sighs.  “Milk.  You experimented on the milk, so I went to ask for a touch for my tea.”

 

“Ah.”   _ The coagulation experiment.  That makes sense.  Very little gets between John and his first cup of tea.   _

 

“Right.  You never even noticed I left.  Fantastic.”

 

Sherlock feels a pulse of panic.  This isn’t going well.  He can’t lose John to some alpha.   _ For Christ’s sake, do something! _

 

“I’m sorry!  John, I‘ll pay more attention.  I will.  I’ll be more careful.  I won’t touch the milk anymore.”  He thinks frantically.   _ What would make John want to stay?   _ He puts both hands to his head and presses, willing himself to think faster.

 

“Hey, hey!” John sounds alarmed.  He gets up and moves to sit next to Sherlock.  Gently, he takes one of Sherlock’s hands in his and turns his body.  “Calm down, Sherlock.  It’s not the end of the world.”

 

_ Wrong.   _ “It is if you leave.”

 

John goes very still next to him.  Sherlock closes his eyes miserably.  

 

“If I leave?  Sherlock, I’m not leaving you.  Look at me.”  He pulls Sherlock’s chin around.  When Sherlock looks at him his eyes are very blue and steady.  “I’m not leaving.  I just needed to get away and calm down a bit.  I was angry.”

 

“Oh.”  There are no other words in Sherlock’s mouth.  There is a feeling like balloons in his chest and under his shoulders.  He feels as if he might float away.  

 

“Huh.  I scared you pretty good, didn’t I?”  John leans in and presses a kiss to Sherlock’s obit.  It feels better than usual because it means that John’s still here.  John, who knows just where to kiss Sherlock and loves him.  It was horrible to think that no one would ever kiss him there again.  “I’m sorry, love.  I’m not going to leave you.  Certainly not over something like this. I might get royally pissed at you, but I’m not going to walk out.  I’m made of sterner stuff than that.”  

 

_ True.   _ What a fantastic thing.  John will not leave.  Oh, Sherlock isn’t foolish enough to think that John will stay if he is truly a terrible partner, but he won’t leave for Sherlock being Sherlock.   _ He isn’t expecting something different.   _

 

Sherlock leans in and places a reverent kiss on John’s thin, pink lips.  They smile under his.  John and Sherlock sit and trade soft kisses for a few minutes, reveling in the release of tension.  

 

John pulls back and favors Sherlock with a wicked little smile.  “Have I introduced you to the fine art of makeup sex yet?”

 

“Nooo,” Sherlock draws out the word, teasing.  “I don’t think you have.”

 

“Disgraceful.  I’ll have get right on that.”  The smile turns downright lecherous.

 

Sherlock gets up and offers John his hand.  John takes it and plants a kiss on Sherlock’s knuckles before he stands.  They make for Sherlock’s room, pressed tightly together.

 

Sherlock had completely forgotten the tokens spilled across the floor.  He stops abruptly in the doorway and feels his heart sink.  This is not at all the right moment.

 

Puzzled by the sudden stop, John follows his gaze.  There’s a little  indrawn breath and John takes an unconscious step towards the jewels on the floor.  “Sherlock?”

 

Moment or not, there’s nothing to be done now but forge ahead.  “Yes, they’re for you.  I bought them.”

 

John goes to his knees next to the sad little tangle of lapis and gold.  At least they still shine in the afternoon light.  He carefully picks up the necklace and turns it in his hand so that the light from the window glitters on the gold.  He lays the bracelet over his wrist and smooths his fingers over the beads.  Sherlock waits and watches.  There’s something powerful about seeing his tokens against John’s skin.  

 

When John looks up, his eyes are wet.  “You picked these out?”  

 

“Yes.”  

 

John looks overwhelmed, but not unpleasantly.  He stands a little shakily and crosses back to where Sherlock stands in the doorway.  He turns, offering his back to Sherlock and holds out the necklace.  “Put it on me.”

 

His hands shaking slightly, Sherlock does.  John fastens the bracelet on his wrist.  After a moment he huffs a laugh and pulls off his sweater.  “They look ridiculous with this thing.”  He pulls off his vest too, then turns, bare chested.  Sherlock was right.  He looks like a pharaoh.  He blinks as if John is too bright too look at.  

 

“They’re fantastic, Sherlock.  The best jewelry I’ve ever gotten.”  He winds both arms around Sherlock’s neck and buries his face in his robe.  “Thank you.”

 

“I got them so you would know that I love you.”  The words slip out easily, pearls spilling out of his mouth.  They don’t hurt at all.  

 

“I know.”  

  
  


Fin

 

**Author's Note:**

> AN: These are Sherlock’s lapis finds. You will have to pretend that the are a matched set. :) The Pawned Prawn is from Skyrim. Reds Ahead is, of course, lifted from the Red Headed League with a few changes.
> 
> http://yemini-silversmiths.com/E%20jewelry%20001.html
> 
> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/50/0d/73/500d731cf6c49f640479f8c7758faffb.jpg
> 
>  
> 
> And, just because, here’s John’s garnet bracelet:
> 
> http://img.loveitsomuch.com/uploads/201209/11/mu/multi%20strand%20garnet%20necklace-etsy%20jewelry%20by%20sharona%20nissan-f22861.jpg


End file.
